


Settle

by KatyTheInspiredWorkaholic



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abraham is an ass and Daryl gets pissed, Angst, Character Study, Hurt, Just Daryl suffering, M/M, No Michonne bashing, Or Richonne bashing, SPOILERS for season 6B through s06e11, Sadness, Unrequited Love, What I just wrote is not okay, and a lot of cursing, self-deprecation, yes it's that scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6162453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatyTheInspiredWorkaholic/pseuds/KatyTheInspiredWorkaholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had he thought about it?</p><p>He had, a few times.</p><p>In fact… he <i>thought</i> he had settled down, once or twice.</p><p>But apparently – he’d been wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Settle

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this entirely on the RWG, and I love you all dearly, but this hurt me to write. Lovingly labeled "kicked puppy fic" after the damn _look_ on Daryl's face when Abraham asked him that question about settling down. _Yes_ you asshole, he _did_ \- once. But not anymore. ((Also I'd like to say I have nothing against Richonne, I love that woman to death and adore her and Daryl's bro-ship, hence why I had to put in a scene with them together talking about _it_. But just... Daryl's face.)) No beta, kind of written last minute. This is sad, I am so sorry.

\--

Words ain’t ever meant much to Daryl. 

People had been throwing them at him all his life; “white trash”, “worthless”, “delinquent”, “asshole”. All synonyms of the name Dixon as far as most folks were concerned where he grew up. He learned to let most words roll off his back, it was the meaning behind those words that started bar fights, brawls in the streets. Especially when his brother was concerned. But words don’t mean shit half the time. 

Actions mean more, the things people did that only sometimes matched those words were what really told him about a person. Who hated him, who judged him, and after the world ended actions started to show who was going to rip your throat out and take your shit. Who liked to kill just because they liked to make things bleed, who liked to watch people suffer. 

But he also began to see actions showed who cared, who worried about when he last ate and where he went during the day, who trusted him - because they came to him before anyone else to get something done. It showed who loved him. All were concepts he had never experienced before, and he didn’t know what to do with them for a long time. Hell he still didn’t understand it, why people came to him – like Denise, taking to him more and more just because he reminded her of someone. Carol said it’s because people can see the good in him, once they get past the greasy hair and angry scowl. He’s still trying to believe her, though it sounds like a load of horse shit. 

So no, words don’t mean much to Daryl. Most of the time they go in one ear and out the other, and when people ask offensive questions that don’t have any hate behind them, he had learned in the past few years to just let it go. They don’t mean anything by it, he ain’t the only one that puts his foot in his mouth whenever they try to speak. 

It had just been a _long time_ since he wanted to punch someone in the teeth when they asked him something. 

And of course it had to be Abraham. 

“How long do you think Rick and Michonne been ugging bumblies?”

It was something Merle would’ve said, and that struck him first. Helped smooth the shock at the words, pieced together in such stark reality that he didn’t know what to say at first. 

He knew someone would ask him eventually, he was just as close to Rick and Michonne as they had been to each other, or so he had thought. But did it have to be Abraham? Who only have a tiny bit more tact than his late brother did, but not by much, and only gave enough fucks to have him swallowed up in this fucking mid-life crisis he seemed to be having lately. 

Daryl had shrugged in response, made a non-committal noise that showed he didn’t know, and tried to keep his face blank.

Because he _didn’t know._

How could he have not known? 

The whole day he’d been agitated as shit, snapping at every little thing and making sure everyone kept a good fucking five foot radius from him. It happened soon after he had poked his head in to check on the prick that called himself “Jesus” only to see him gone. Knew he must have gone to talk to Rick, who’d been _exhausted_ after the day from hell they had and Daryl had told him to go home and sleep it off. He’d raced home to find the guy had just been sitting on the stairs, talking to Carl while the kid had a gun pointed at his face, and Daryl had been pissed. How the fuck had that slimey asshole slipped past him!? But then he had seen Rick and Michonne at the top of the stairs, only in half their clothes, still blurry with sleep and reeking of sex. 

And the anger had blurred all the way out to the edges.

Daryl couldn’t even look at them. 

“You ever think about it? Settling down?” if he hadn’t been at a loss for words before, he sure was then. He knew it was written all over his face, settled deep and vast in the stare that he directed at the other man, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to keep it from settling there like mud smeared across his cheeks. 

Had he thought about it?

He had, a few times.

In fact… he _thought_ he had settled down, once or twice.

But apparently – he’d been wrong. 

That also wasn’t a first time thing for Daryl Dixon. Being wrong, not understanding what everything meant. Being too late. Actions always meant more to Daryl than words, said more, and every interaction he had with Rick had said something to him. Woken something in him, something he hadn’t had before. Something slow and unfurling like how a log split in a fire, crumbling into a mess of bright red embers among the black ash. Thought if he just waited, bided his time and let this _thing_ between them grow it would just happen; Carol would always pat his arm when she caught him staring at the other man, told him to “give it time”. Like one day Rick would just wake up and _know_.

Fuck he’d been so stupid. 

Jessie had been hard, pretty little blonde thing with two boys that needed saving, he couldn’t compete with that. He’d known it, spent way too long outside the walls of Alexandria to escape it. Afraid Rick would want to _talk_ about it, as if Daryl had ever shown two shits of interest to sex, or anything to do with it. Luckily Rick never did, he wasn’t that kind of guy – thank God. Merle had been, Daryl knew too many intimate details of his brothers sex-capades to ever really want any kind of sexual interaction. He hadn’t thought about it once since long before the world ended, not until the prison. When they had time to relax, fall back into themselves, to settle. 

Yeah, he’d thought about settling down. 

Once.

But now he never could. 

What he wanted didn’t belong to him.

Daryl scoffed, finally able to stop staring at Abraham like an idiot, blink back the emotions that burned behind his eyes in a flood of rage and hurt. 

“You think shit settles?” he managed to say clearly, lowly, walking away before Abraham asked anything else that would give him a black eye. 

Daryl had thought he and Rick had something, small seedlings that would sprout to the surface one day. Could actually become something. He even entertained thoughts of what he wanted that to be, what an actual future might look like – for them, and it was nice. It was something that had calmed the storm of insecurity that always raged inside him, that left him cautious and reserved, and just the prospect of what might be – what could’ve been – had helped him ease into this careful sense of peace. That maybe one day his guard wouldn’t have to be up, and he could trust what surrounded him enough to relax, had even tested the waters of what that might be like when they were at the prison. And then again in Alexandria.

Everyone saw how well the prison went, and _now_ – Daryl wasn’t sure if he’d ever let his guard down again.

He wasn’t sure how to feel at first, once the hurt subsided and he realized he had not right to be hurt. Hell he didn’t have any right to feel betrayed either, but that didn’t stop that ugly emotion from settling deep in his heart like a virus. Feeding the aching sadness that was agonizing at the best of times, and he did feel more sad than betrayed most of the time. Like he was once again in the wrong, keeping expectations for something that he shouldn’t be, and having it all ripped out from under him in such a way it felt like he had fallen on his ass and didn’t know how to get back up.

And Michonne was making it worse. Daryl couldn’t even look at her, but Michonne couldn’t stop looking at him. She kept her distance, thankfully, but she was always watching him – and it made his skin itch. She managed to corner him, after Jesus had said his grand speech about trading with other groups. In the armory, where he and Carol had laid out all the automatic rifles they were planning on arming everyone with. He was loading each one, making sure the barrels were clear and nothing would jam up, and Carol had stepped out to disperse the finished ones while he continued to work. Then suddenly Michonne was there, blocking the door and his only chance to escape what was about to happen.

Daryl didn’t know her eyes could go that big, that deep, caverns of sorrow and something too close to pity for Daryl to deal with. He wasn’t ready for this, it had only been an hour or so, he needed time to process – to adjust to having his world ripped away from him. 

“Daryl-“ she began, but he busied himself with loading the rifles, probably cocking them a little too loudly, his movements too forceful. The soreness of his stolen crossbow only adding salt to the wound. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say, it didn’t matter anymore. It was done. He was trying to keep his mind carefully blank, but Michonne even being there was drudging up all the muck and anger that he wanted to lash out. He knew better, knew to hold it back, and he could get past it if she would just fucking let him – and leave him alone.

“Daryl – I’m so sorry. It just happened-“

“Don’t,” he told her, sharp like barbs, and immediately felt bad about it. How she flinched at the words he hissed through his teeth, still not looking at her. “Jus’ – don’t…” There, that was better. A plea, too defeated to be coming out of his mouth, and even he was surprised that he was able to voice that level of emotion without bursting at the seams. In that moment he knew that words weren’t going to help anything between them. Because Michonne _knew_ , had known – just like Carol. 

But apparently that wasn’t enough to make it matter.

And Michonne looked like her insides were being twisted with a hot pitch-fork, in such pain that Daryl knew she meant it. That made everything so much worse, neither she nor Rick had even thought of him in that moment – and why would they? He wasn’t a part of it, never would be – it didn’t matter.

“We- I didn’t do it to hurt you,” she told him as steady as she could, words kept so carefully controlled they shook with radiating calm in the silence that hung between them. She held herself so tightly, in that way she always did when she was about to let a small crack in her armor, and if she did something insane like cry then Daryl would fucking lose every sense of self he was holding on to. He couldn’t even imagine Michonne crying, that wasn’t her, so he didn’t want find out what would happen in its stead. This couldn’t destroy what they all had, just because Daryl couldn’t handle losing something that was never his to begin with. And he couldn’t be the cause of Michonne’s distress as well as his own anguish.

So Daryl did what he always did.

“I know,” he answered quietly, with enough meaning behind it she knew he meant it. In comparison to every sharp word he uttered the next few hours, hiding behind walls he had thrown up faster than his own emotions cold tear them down, it was probably the most honest words he would speak that day.

But once again, words don’t mean shit to Daryl, so he followed what he said with actions. He put himself front and center for everything, stoic and only a little angry, falling back into the shell of a solider – Rick’s soldier. It was what he was good at, a spot that would always belong to him. Right beside Rick, who was oblivious to Daryl’s pain, to the hurt that was staining him like blood seeping through a bandage. But, really – what else was new?

No, shit didn’t settle.

It just piles on, gets kicked up and stuck on everything, and makes a right fucking mess. But Daryl had always been good at wading through it, had learned to roll with the punches and adapt to changes. Like how his whole philosophy on people was rapidly changing with each interaction he had. 

Words don’t mean shit, and actions don’t always mean what you think.

Maybe it was better to just – not expect anything. Keep his trust to himself, and no one else. Not even Rick.

Except Rick didn’t do anything wrong, no one did. Daryl had no one to blame but himself. He knew he was kidding himself, he would always trust Rick more than anyone, trust Michonne with his life, trust every one of those dicks he called family. They accepted him, loved him, would always have his back. He just had to stop those stupid thoughts – dreams of _one day_ , hopes of _maybe_ , pretending there was such thing as _soon_ – that were never going to fucking happen anyway. Who was he to think that Rick could ever… want anything like Daryl Dixon. 

He should’ve known better.

Now he had a job to do, a refreshing sense of purpose that kept him there in that moment. He needed to remind himself and everyone else why he was there, that he wasn’t someone to be forgotten. He had to help take care of his family, support and provide for them in any way he could, that was what he was good at. And he would do _anything_ to prove to himself that he still could. Even crippled as he was, without his signature weapon or transportation, comforts that felt like losing a limb when they were ripped away. But even his older brother had gotten up and punched life in the teeth when it cut off his hand. Nothing kicked down a Dixon except another Dixon. 

Settle down? 

He _had_ thought about it, but no, he didn’t get to settle down. He never would, that was clear now.

He’d settle down when he was laid in his grave.


End file.
